Missed Flights and Sybarites
by carnifax
Summary: Garth/Roy. Snowed in at Gotham International Airport over the New Year, the boys try to cope with discoveries, tuxedos, parties, sharing a bed, and a very, very agreeable man named Austin.


**Missed Flights and Sybarites**

By Carnifax  
Teen Titans  
Garth/Roy  
Rated T  
Drama/Romance  
_Snowed in at Gotham International Airport over the New Year, the boys try to cope with discoveries, tuxedos, parties, sharing a bed, and a very nice man named Austin._

This is clearly a New Year's story, so it's a little late (oops), but I don't think that will matter to you. Once again, I'm utilizing a random (foreign!) man for my own purposes, and I apologize in advance for this chapter… Because by the end of it, you SpAquaheads will be shouting, "How the hell is this our pairing?!" But fear not! This is only part one.

Speaking of which, I know I promised a one-shot, but posting it all at once would've been obscene. Plus, I like holding you in suspense, muhaha. Also, writing "Same Day" before each given time seemed a little pointless when I could have chapters, lo and behold!

So a happy 2009 to all of you… and here we go.

**

* * *

**

December 30 – 1:32 pm

There was snow outside the airport when the Titans East team landed, bumpily, in the enormous passenger jet on one of the last days of the year. Karen had insisted they fly commercial, since the Titan's jet was under repairs at the moment, which meant that there would be a layover at the Gotham terminal while the team waited for their connecting flight to Jump City.

"Y'know," yawned the red-headed archer, kicking his heels up on Garth's carry-on luggage, "we should hold the New Year's Party at our place next year. It would save us the trip. Let's make everyone else travel to _us_ for a change."

Karen laughed while she dug through her bags for the twins' snack. "You'd rather travel than clean up the mess it'd make, trust me. Besides, we don't have as many bedrooms as the Westers do. They're already making us double up as it is…"

"Isn't the Herald opening up holes in the time-space-thing for us?" Garth asked. He looked up from the pages of his novel and saw Roy's boots on his bag. "And get _off_ my stuff." He yanked the bag away; Roy just made a face.

"The Herald's only going to open up gaps to bring Kole in from up north, or maybe to get Argent over from the UK. We're perfectly capable of getting there quickly enough—private jet or not."

"But it's taking _forever_," Roy whined. He motioned to Mas and Menos, a row away in the gate's seating area, who were devouring the oreos Karen had given them. "They at least get to have snacks and toys. Where are my toys, hm?"

"You mean girls?" Garth asked, brow raised.

"Ex_act_ly." He kicked his feet onto Garth's bag again, grinning. "Want to go find some?"

Karen checked her watch, shaking her head good-humoredly. "If you _really_ need to be hormonal right now, you do have half an hour 'til we board."

"Plenty of time." Roy grabbed Garth's book away—the Atlantean yelped as he lost the page—and yanked him to his feet. "C'_mon_—you're my wingman!"

"We'll be back," Garth muttered to Bee, who gave a sympathetic smile and mouthed _Sorry!_

There was a food court at the end of the terminal, and in the middle was a darkened bar, _The Midnight Hour_, with flashing neon lights and a tattooed barista.

"You boys need a drink to ease your nerves?" she asked, slamming two glasses onto the bar.

"Half cranberry juice, half vodka, please." Garth settled himself onto a stool, and yet Roy had other plans.

The redhead tugged Garth's sleeve, nearly pulling him from the chair. "I'll have a beer," he ordered, clearly distracted by a table of young women. He shrugged off his jacket and, hanging it over his arm, dragged the unwilling prince toward the girls.

They settled at a table conspicuously close to the trio, but if the girls noticed, they didn't say anything. Roy sat himself facing toward their table, and Garth with his back to them.

Garth checked his watch. "You have twenty minutes, Casanova."

"You have neurotic tendencies," came Roy's answer. "And besides, I've done it in less."

The dark-haired prince crowed, rolling his eyes, lounging back against the booth. "You mean, you've literally _had_ a girl in 20 minutes?"

Roy chuckled and winked. "You just gotta have a plan laid out. Drink, number, naked—then she's out the door. Twenty minutes."

Garth stared for a long minute, and then quirked a brow. "Well, that doesn't say much for your endurance, that's for sure."

The archer opened his mouth, ready with an indignant argument, when a bottle of beer and a glass clattered against the table. They smiled at the barista and thanked her, and as soon as she was gone, Garth checked his watch again.

"You have _eighteen_ minutes."

Roy sneered and took a swig of beer, then stood up. He pretended to stretch his arms—while really getting a better look at the girls' table—and succinctly swiveled himself back towards the bar.

"Where're you going?" the prince laughed.

"They"—he pointed to the three girls—"need another round."

Violet eyes watched closely as Roy disappeared for a moment, then appeared again a moment later, tucking his wallet into his jeans. Garth, still closely eyeing him, smiled when Roy plunked triumphantly into his seat.

"Don't _tell_ me you bought them—"

"I bought them their next round of drinks." Roy took another swig, then jerked his chin toward Garth's own drink. "You should drink up. We only have, what, fifteen minutes?"

"Thirteen, actually." He pushed the glass toward the archer. "It's for you anyway. I knew you'd be done with the beer too soon. I decided to save you some time."

Roy grinned, raising his bottle in a toast. "Cranberry and vodka, my favorite poison. You know me too well."

"Unfortunately, I—"

A bout of laughter erupted behind Garth when the girls called over the woman from the bar. The prince smirked, finding it impossible to stay casually indifferent. That was exactly what Roy was doing, though—pretending to watch the football game on a TV by the bar, sipping idly on his drink, playing the part perfectly, like he always did.

The three girls pranced over, hips swinging with a little too much invitation, purses hooked loosely over thin shoulders. "Which one of you bought us the drinks?"

Since Garth was the only one of the pair looking at them, the three hungry leers were aimed down on him. Knowing Roy wouldn't ever admit to it—not because he was a gentleman, but because he had to play his game the right way—Garth pointed a single finger toward the archer. Roy looked up just then, as if he'd only just realized the girls were there, and he smiled.

Garth stared at him, ignoring whatever he or the girls were saying. It was impossible _not_ to be caught up in that look, like a snake's prey staring into glittering, fascinating, dangerous eyes. The sheer mastery of that smile, with just enough humility and sympathy, but a little spice of flirtation, maybe a hint of feisty—it was perfectly engineered for the public eye. Even thought Garth knew that expression was far from genuine, he couldn't help be swept away by Roy sometimes.

The next thing Garth was aware of was the sensation of manicured hands shoving him farther into the booth's seat as two girls climbed in beside him. One took it upon herself to crawl across his lap to sit in the corner seat, planted snugly between the two Titans.

"So, do you ladies have names?" Roy asked, still going on in that suave, forced tone.

"I'm Natasha," chirped the sultry redhead sitting in the middle.

"I'm Elena," the petite blonde said next. Her hand was already rubbing Roy's thigh.

All eyes turned to the last girl when she didn't immediately answer. "I'm… _engaged_," she shrugged. "I'm babysitting my two bridesmaids. And my name is Megan." There was a pause. "Thanks for the drinks."

"Who's the lucky guy?" Roy asked. His arms draped themselves oh-so-discreetly around Elena and Natasha's shoulders.

"His name's Todd. I'm gonna go get more drinks."

"I'll go too," Garth offered, following her out of the booth. He'd take any route to excuse himself from those other girls.

As soon as they reached the bar, Megan whirled on him, hissing out her words in a low tone. "I _told_ you, I'm _engaged_, so feel free to get back to hitting on my friends. Don't you _dare_ try anything on me! It's—"

"Hey, whoa," Garth interrupted, shaking his head. "I'm not trying anything, promise. I want to be here about as much as you do. Roy's just… a philanderer. And he drags me around so he doesn't seem creepy, or so his little act works out okay, or… something." He leaned his elbows back on the bar and let his gaze scan the rest of the tables. "I hope your marriage works out great, if it's any consolation. Most young couples party before their wedding, so if you're not gunning for a last fling before the vows… Well, kudos to you."

A sigh came from the young woman. "Wow, sorry." She ran a hand through her hair, a nervous gesture. "Major misjudgment on my part. My bad."

The barista showed up then, to Megan's great relief. As she ordered drinks for the other two girls, the prince let his eyes linger on different faces in the crowd. He was just watching a couple in the corner chatter over a spilled whiskey glass when the sudden movement of a face looking up caught his glance.

A man stood at the edge of the room, leaning over a pool table, cue in hand, about to take his turn. But his eyes were locked on Garth's—the prince felt a jolt run through him like an electric current in his blood, and it didn't fade until the eyes hesitantly looked away.

A loud "Thank you!" pulled Garth back to the bar just in time to catch a mug before Megan dropped it.

"What are you, a superhero?" she asked.

He only laughed, shook his head. "Good reflexes, that's all." He glanced over his shoulder as they went back to the table, eyes landing on the man playing pool. And the man, now standing aside to let his friend shoot, was still staring at him.

"We just didn't come over here _before_ because of _one_ reason," the blonde, Elena, was saying as Garth and Megan sat down. "One. Reason."

"And what reason was that?" Roy asked, allowing himself to be baited, while throwing out a lure of his own—that spectacular grin was back on his face. He'd moved onto Garth's cranberry-vodka glass now, but he wasn't by any means drunk.

"Well," Natasha began, "we all—minus Megs over here—thought you two were _hot_ and all, and well-dressed and everything, but do you want to know the truth?"

"You two could've been a _couple_ for all we knew!" finished Elena. She was practically in Roy's lap by now.

Roy laughed, unfazed, while Garth stifled a laugh into his hand, trying to fake a coughing fit. The former was still playing his game, but the latter was laughing at the girls' expressions and too-high giggles.

"They're a little drunk, I know," Megan muttered to him.

He looked sideways at her. "Only a _little_?"

"I'm not a good babysitter," she shrugged, swirling her beer. "Besides, they're consenting adults. How much trouble can they get into at an airport?"

"With Roy?" Garth shook his head, pretended to be appalled. "I wouldn't risk it." But he smiled, and then turned back towards the conversation—or, rather, the apparent lull in the conversation. Roy was taking slow sips of Garth's drink while the girls searched their purses for something to write with. Within a minute, Roy had both their numbers on the back of a bookstore receipt.

"So what do you do for a living?" Garth asked Megan as Roy and the girls started up the flirtation again.

"I'm actually an assistant right now, to a biologist working on the marine life in Steel City bay."

Garth stared, open-mouthed. "You're kidding!"

"Why would I be kidding? I just had an interview, though, and it went really well, so hopefully I'll actually work there fulltime soon."

"No, I meant—What a coincidence. We're from Steel City too."

She laughed, and her voice lowered. "I know. Secret identities be damned, you're not exactly different from when you're wearing a wetsuit."

"Did you figure it out before or after you called me a superhero?" Garth rolled his eyes. "That's why I hate the news channels, for the record. Absolutely _no_ privacy."

"Before," she answered, "but _after_ I snapped on you. You leaned back on the bar just like you lean back on rocks at the shore of the bay."

He raised a brow. "I didn't think news crews videotaped me in the bay…"

She pointed to herself. "Marine biologist, remember? You show up on our radars just like any other fish."

"That sounds like an insult!" he chuckled.

"It isn't—You're even more fascinating than them." She laughed again, waving a hand. "Hell, if I had my equipment right now, you can bet your ass that I'd be measuring you where you stand. You're the only Atlantean in this hemisphere who doesn't just surface every few hundred years. And I think you're the only Atlantean in the _world_ who _lives_ up here."

Garth thought for a moment, a little embarrassed by the knowledge that people knew about his daily aquatic rampages. "Well," he said finally, "give me your card, so I can make an appointment to come get measured. Maybe you'll get a promotion or something for finding me."

Megan's face lit up. "Really? You'd seriously come in?"

"Consider it a wedding present. Or"—he jerked his head at Roy—"an apology."

She handed him a dolphin-shaped card, which he quickly pocketed—and in doing so, glanced at his watch. "By Poseidon—_Roy!_" He clambered out of the booth, gesturing for Roy to follow his lead. "We're late!"

Roy's charming grin vanished. He slipped out of the booth, unlatching Elena's claws from his torso, raising his eyebrows at the prince. "Why didn't you say something?"

"This isn't _my_ fault!" Garth hissed, giving one last benevolent smile at the girls before he dragged Roy away. Just before they reached the doors, Garth felt a familiar stare boring holes in his back; he flung a glance over his shoulder and, sure enough, that man by the pool table had his eyes glued to the Titans.

"Move your ass, Fishstick," Roy growled, snapping Garth into motion again. "What happened to your pithy time announcements every three minutes, hm?"

They were racing down the terminal now, just barely short of running. "How late are we?" Roy asked, checking his own watch. "Shit, ten minutes? _Shit!_"

Garth turned the corner first, pointing toward their gate. "We'll make it—Look, I see the last of the people boarding. No harm, no f—"

"Fuck!" Roy jolted to a stop, yanking Garth alongside him.

"What now?" Garth started to move toward the gate again, but Roy kept him back.

"My coat, Fishstick!" His green eyes were pleading. "My fucking _coat_, it's still at the bar." Slower, he said, "We have to go back…"

"By the gods, Roy! Our plane is _leaving_—"

"Please?" He tugged Garth's sleeve. "C'mon, if we hurry, we'll make it!" When the Atlantean didn't answer, Roy shoved away from him, turning around. "Fine, get on the plane, I'll be back in _two seconds_!"

Garth watched him sprint the length of the terminal, mind wrought with indecision. He looked between the two lonely bags sitting side-by-side at their gate, and the disappearing figure of an archer, and sighed.

"All for a damn coat," he groaned, moving back toward the boarding area, but only to pick up their bags. Hitching Roy's over his shoulder and rolling his own, Garth took the bags from the rows of seats, turning around just in time to see the plane back away from the boarding tunnel.

He was halfway to the bar when his communicator began humming in his pocket—it was Karen.

"You aren't on the flight," she groaned, "are you." It wasn't even a question.

"I'm sorry, Roy left his jacket—"

She interrupted, speaking quickly. "It's fine, Garth. We'll pick up your stuff from baggage claim, and your carry-ons are still by the gate. Just catch the next flight to Jump, and get a taxi from there. I have to go—they're making us turn off our phones—so I'll see you later. Keep Roy out of trouble for me!"

"I wi—" The quiet _click_ of disconnection cut him off, and Garth rolled his eyes. "Have a good flight, Bee," he muttered, pocketing the communicator, continuing his way to the bar.

Roy was meandering the back area when the prince arrived, presumably searching for the bar woman. The girls were gone, Garth noticed, but they were too drunk to be responsible about a lost jacket—and Megan, though not quite as drunk, was too busy being responsible for her friends to worry about it.

Garth set the bags down in a booth, about to sit down when a clear, Welsh tenor spoke up from behind him. "Hey, wait up a second."

When Garth met the eyes of the speaker, that shockwave of—what _was_ it?—ran through him again, that indescribable _pulling_ sensation. Curiosity, attraction, possibly fear?

But it was just a man, maybe a year or two older than Garth himself, with tawny hair and dark, deep, brown eyes. It was the man who had been playing pool—the man who had been watching him.

The prince tilted his head in recognition. "You're…"

"Austin Greene," the man answered, a crooked smile teased across his lips. "I'm glad I caught you before you left for good." His gaze flickered over the bags sitting in the booth, then returned to Garth's face. "You're staying here for a while?"

Garth nodded, his laugh tinged with a hint of irony. "It seems that way."

"With your…" Austin jerked his chin at Roy, still walking around by the bar. "…partner?"

"Mmhm," Garth sighed, scratching the back of his neck. Then he froze when he noticed a change in Austin's eyes, and he stood upright. "_Work_ partner," he corrected, too loud. He repeated, softer, "Just my _work_ partner."

Warm, chocolate-brown eyes studied Garth, more out of curiosity than scrutiny. The prince shifted under his stare and let his eyes wander, searching his mind for something to say.

"So, you're glad you caught me before I left," the Atlantean remembered, violet eyes finally rising to meet brown again.

Austin's reply came as a smile. "I did say that, didn't I?" He chuckled, pulling a folded-up napkin from his pocket. He held it between two lithe fingers and extended it to Garth.

The Atlantean glanced at the numbers scrawled on the inside of the napkin and, raising a playful brow, looked Austin in the eye.

"My cell phone number," the toffee-eyed man shrugged. "You seem like the kind of person I want to know more about."

"I'm not sure if I'm as interesting as you think," the prince laughed, "but thanks. I'll keep it in mind."

"If you get bored around here, call me. I'm here 'til after New Year's." Austin began to leave, but paused mid-turn and pivoted himself toward Garth again. "You're…?"

"…single?" he offered.

Austin snickered, imperceptibly licking his lips. "I appreciate the invitation, but I meant your name. You are…?"

"Garth." He extended a hand toward the man, whose long fingers clasped it in return and then lingered for a moment.

"I'll see you 'round, _Garth_," Austin said at last, giving him a brief nod before leaving.

Garth watched him go, idly folding the napkin into a neat triangle. When the retreating back disappeared down the terminal, the dark-haired prince let out a sigh and stowed the napkin in his back pocket. He remembered Roy's plight for the jacket and turned, surprised to see the redhead already standing a few steps away.

"What'd that guy want?" Roy asked. His arms were crossed over his chest and his expression was guarded, eyes narrowed in inquiry.

"Nothing," was Garth's answer—a lie, but not a substantial one. "We were just talking. Did you find your coat?"

The tension drained from Roy's stance when he held up the jacket, triumphant. "Yup… A random guy just came over to talk?"

Garth shrugged one shoulder, tossing Roy his carry-on bag. "We have to go check the flight list. Karen called—she wants us on the next flight over."

"Yes sir." Roy hefted the bag over his head, letting the strap fall across his chest. He led the way through the terminal and stopped at the digital boards where the times were displayed. But his eyes caught on the windows, where a thick snow had begun to fall. "I wonder if there's snow in Jump City…"

"Doubt it," Garth murmured. He was distracted by the display, scanning for any flights out west.

"It's warmer there, isn't it? Probably at least in the 50's." Roy hummed, adjusting his bag. "Maybe it'll get really cold and snow, like a freak blizzard or something. Wouldn't that be fun?"

"I'd prefer warm weather… Don't you remember when the twins got to snowball fighting a week ago, on the roof?" The Atlantean found what he was looking for and started toward a ticket counter. "Menos had the worst cough for three days, poor kid."

"And Mas couldn't go see him, in case _he_ got sick too?" Roy laughed. "Hell, Menos had nasty drippy shit coming from his nose 24/7… That was _disgusting_."

Garth nodded in agreement, putting down his bag before he approached the man at the counter. "Hi," he started when the worker looked up from his screen. "I'd like to buy two tickets for Continental flight 74, please?"

The man smirked, eyebrows raised. "O_kay_," he said, clearly sarcastic; but he started getting the tickets ready.

"What do you mean, _oh-kay_?" Roy demanded, irritation knitting his brow.

The man looked up again, lips pursed, and he looked between the two Titans. "You obviously haven't seen the radar recently, have you? The weather's going downhill, starting in about an hour. Flight 74, direct to Jump City International, doesn't leave until later tonight. Do you _really_ think the snow's gonna hold off that long?" He shook his head, still smug. "If I were you, I'd reserve a room at the airport hotel and wait it out."

"We can't," Roy said to Garth. "The party's tomorrow."

Garth held up a hand to quiet the redhead as he turned to the man at the desk. "You don't have any earlier flights?" When he shook his head, Garth asked, "What about flights to nearby places? We could get a rental car, drive there…"

"Most of the flights that'll get you within a twelve-hour drive are cancelled, unfortunately." The man scrolled through the flight index, biting his lip. "There's a storm over the Rockies, a big one, that no one wants to fly through. This morning, a plane flying over ended up with major icing in the wings, and had to make an emergency landing in a mountaintop hangar. There's some seriously nasty weather out west right now."

"A flight just left for Jump a little while ago, though," Garth argued. "They have to fly over the mountains, don't they?"

The man shook his head again. "They have extra fuel in the tanks, and are adding some airtime by swooping south of the rough patches."

Garth sighed, turning to Roy. "Want to buy tickets, just in case?"

"Just in case," the archer echoed, rolling his eyes. "This is what I meant before—Why can't we let _other_ people worry about getting to _our_ Tower, instead of this—"

"Two tickets for coach, please," Garth said to the man, laughing when Roy made a face.

**

* * *

**

6:45 pm

"_We're sorry for the inconvenience, but all flights out of Gotham International Airport have been cancelled due to poor weather conditions."_

Roy swore. Loudly.

"_Given the current circumstances, flying is impractical and dangerous. If your travel party returns to their terminal as early as… tomorrow morning at approximately 11 o'clock, flights should continue as scheduled if conditions allow. Again, the staff of Gotham International Airport is sorry for the inconvenience, but for your own safety we must discontinue flights to and from the terminals."_

There was a brief moment of silence in which more oaths spilled from the redhead's mouth, and then the message began again.

"Fucking _fantastic_," he murmured, scrubbing his face with his palms. "Fu-cking _fan-tas-tic_."

A mother walking in front of his seat pulled along her son, casting a dark look at the Titan. He plastered a grim smile on his face and started piling his iPod and magazines into his carry-on. There wasn't anywhere to go—he had, what was it, sixteen hours?—and besides, Garth had disappeared half an hour ago, and had yet to return.

As if summoned by Roy's thoughts, a pale arm reached over the back of the seats and grabbed Garth's bag.

"Hey—" Roy growled, spinning on the man. But it was the aquatic wonder, and Roy rolled his eyes, standing. "Did you get lost?"

Garth just gave a smug grin and jingled a set of keys between two fingers. "I didn't get lost, no. But I _did_ get us a room at the hotel. The last one, actually."

"What, you don't enjoy sleeping in airport terminals?" Roy laughed, pleasantly shoving Garth. "Lead the way, Fishstick."

**

* * *

**

7:25 pm

When Garth got out of the shower, Roy was slouched across the bed, hands slung behind his head, watching _A Christmas Story_ on the slightly fuzzy television screen. Green eyes only flickered to the toweled Atlantean, uninterested. "When are we having dinner?"

Garth sighed, pulling clothes out of his bag. "We seem to have bigger problems than that."

"What, don't they have your favorite brand of conditioner?" Roy sat upright, barely catching the room service menu when it came flying at his face. He laughed and opened it, perusing the meals. "Hey, look! They have baked flounder on—"

Garth snatched the menu away again, sending droplets across the carpet when he shook his head. "We don't have _clothes_, Roy. I have enough for maybe tomorrow…"

"Flights resume tomorrow morning. Chill out." He fluffed a pillow and put it behind his head. "So that's a _no_ on the flounder?"

"Do you really think this snow will clear by then?" Garth yanked open the curtains, trying to see the dark street below. There were easily two feet of snow outside, and white puffs were still falling at a steady rate. "No, there's _no_ way that's clearing by noon tomorrow. I have a feeling we're not going to make it to the party…"

"Well don't jinx it, asshole."

Garth sighed a second time, taking the clothes and heading back into the bathroom. "We'll go see if the airport mall has a clothing store or something," he called out the door.

"You don't have to change in a separate room, you know," came Roy's answer. "Femininity and long hair doth not a woman make."

"Clichéd quotes doth not a witty insult make."

Roy laughed and turned off the TV. "As long as we get food, I'm down for shopping. New clothes are totally my thing."

"…and you say _I'm_ a woman?"

**

* * *

**

8:00 pm

Garth's eyes widened as soon as he stepped out of the changing room of the tuxedo boutique. "Who the hell are _you_ supposed to be?"

Roy spun on him, eyebrow quirked as he tore off jet-black sunglasses. He gave the prince a sultry smile and extended a hand. "Bond," he murmured. "James Bond."

There was a pause, and then Garth smirked. "Well then, _Mr. Bond_, remind me… What _exactly_ are we doing in _suits_?" He held his arms out to the sides, looking down at himself before looking up at Roy again. "We look like businessmen. Or spies."

"Or spies _pretending_ to be businessmen," Roy winked, staring at his reflection in the mirrors. He turned this way and that, admiring the pitch-black suit, tugging on his cuffs. "This is fucking _snazzy_." His eyes flickered to Garth in the reflection, and suddenly he was swiveling on his teammate, hands grabbing at his tie.

"What are you—"

"This _has_ to go," the archer shrugged, slipping the sky-blue atrocity from around Garth's neck. "If you just get a different tie, that suit would look ten times better."

"I hate suits," Garth grumbled. "This is _not_ what I meant by new clothes. I meant jeans, t-shirts, _socks_—"

"But you don't look _nearly_ as sexy in those," Roy argued, prodding his teammate's chest with an index finger. "Men like us—buff, sultry, in the mood—we need _classy_ sexiness." He whirled on the mirror again, adjusting his own tie now, and crowed. "And I look absolutely _pornographic_, am I right?"

"You're right," Garth agreed, passing his genuine concurrence for sarcasm—because the way Roy was stretching his arms up, back arched, his undershirt tugged up to reveal the smallest sliver of tan abdomen… well, it hard to _dis_agree. "You look absolutely pornographic, Roy."

The redhead stuck out an impudent tongue, but jerked his chin toward the front of the store. "Just go find another tie, Fishy. Think you can manage?"

Garth made a face back at him and shuffled out to the section with ties. Thankfully, no one else was around to see his indecision as he stood, arms crossed, in deliberation before the wall of colors and patterns. Not even solicitous workers were around to ask if he needed help.

He was standing there for at least a few minutes when, out of nowhere, a silky cloth slipped around his neck. Hands were already flipping up his collar before Garth could turn around—hands that Garth naturally assumed were Roy's.

But, whether out of luck or sheer coincidence, the eyes Garth found himself staring into weren't green, but brown and kind. It was that man _again_—Austin Greene—and this time, he was knotting a vibrant amethyst tie around Garth's neck. The Atlantean's lips pulled up at the corners, waiting until Austin was done to speak.

"Thank you," he said simply.

Those chestnut eyes smoldered with delight. He shrugged, "You looked lost."

"I can't even tie my own tie," Garth admitted, "much _less_ pick out a decent color. What are you doing in here?"

Austin scrunched his nose in distaste. "Un_for_tunately," he began, smiling a little, "I'm having a meeting in an hour via webcam, and my only tie managed to acquire a gravy stain over dinner." He idly started to button Garth's jacket with lingering fingers while he spoke. "The conference is for my current client—I'm part of the financial branch at Wayne Enterprises—and he is _very_ hard to please. From my superiors, I've been informed that minor mistakes can ruin the entire deal with his company."

"Including gravy on your tie?" the prince asked with a grin.

"Ex_ac_tly." Austin smoothed Garth's lapels, casually letting his hands skim across the Titan's chest. "So of _course_ I can't just wear it with the gravy, and if I don't wear _any_ tie, it's like signing my own death certificate. And thus," he lifted his cobalt tie, "I'm getting a new one."

Suddenly frowning in realization, Austin pulled back his sleeve to glance his watch. "Garth, I'm so sorry, but I have to go…"

"Don't apologize," Garth said quickly. "You shouldn't be late for a conference on _my_ account, especially not with your picky client's company on the line." He grinned when the man's expression softened, and waved a dismissing hand. "Go on, _shoo_."

Austin shook his head in amusement and turned, only to hesitate after a few steps. He spun on Garth, closing the gap between them, and pulled the Titan by his tie into a kiss. It was an undemanding graze of their lips, just a small gesture of affection, and then he succinctly murmured into Garth's ear. "Also," came the breathy Welsh vowels, "that suit looks fantastic on you. I can only think of a _single_ better place for it…"

"And where is that?" the Atlantean smiled.

Austin pushed him away, his lips turned up in a roguish leer. "That suit would look _amazing_… if it were lying scattered across my hotel room floor." He tugged on Garth's tie again, eyebrows rising, and then turned to saunter leisurely away.

Garth's fingertips unconsciously grazed his lips, still feeling the brief kiss; he let out the slightest laugh, more a sigh than anything, and shook his head to clear his mind.

At least he was beginning to understand what Roy meant about suits—there was definitely something sensual, almost indecent, about them…

**

* * *

**

8:43 pm

Roy didn't understand what he'd seen. And he understood a lot.

He understood how to estimate a moving target's position at any given time, he understood Dick's hypocritical philosophies, he understood the hungers and aches of addiction and, on occasion, he even understood Karen's PMSing-psycho-bitch rants.

But to see a teammate being lured in by a strange man in the middle of a tuxedo store? That didn't make any sense at all.

In retrospect, Garth never did seem too interested in taking discreet peeks up Starfire's skirt when she flew over him, or at Karen when she would sit in the kitchen, in only a towel, and groggily read the morning paper while her hair dried.

But then again, Garth had the uncanny ability to make women drool as soon as he entered a room. He wasn't a pansy by any means, and his swimmer's physique rivaled… well, it rivaled pretty much _everyone_ else's.

Regardless, Roy supposed it was only fair that any type of man could prefer any gender. Bikers could be gay, playwrights could be total players—stereotypical boxes were _so_ twentieth century anyway.

Even if Garth _was_ gay, how could he be so calm about what had happened? At the moment, the prince was just sitting across the table from Roy, chomping away on his salad like nothing was wrong. Of course, Roy hadn't exactly told Garth he was in on his little secret, so there was no reason for the dark-haired Titan to panic, but—

"Roy?"

The redhead blinked, surfacing from his thoughts. He realized Garth was looking at him now.

"Are you feeling okay?" The prince wiped his mouth with a napkin and quirked a brow. "You were whining about food until we went to the tux joint, and now it's like you aren't even hungry."

Roy shook his head, but the thoughts were still rattling around inside it. His mouth was dry—he reached for the glass of water beside his meal—and it didn't help that Garth kept brushing his fingertips, or his tongue, or his teeth, over his lips. With his gaze lingering on the Atlantean's mouth, Roy's mind was driving itself to the brink.

"I'm fine," he murmured. "I'm just, you know, tired."

Garth pursed his lips—_god_, did they _always_ look that invitingly pink against his skin?—but said nothing.

Obligingly, Roy picked up his knife and fork, about to mime his way through the meal when his communicator rang. "I'll get—"

"I'll get the call," Garth said strictly. "You should finish eating."

Roy handed over the ringing, yellow device with reluctance. He watched Garth strut away to a quieter place, and then stared maliciously down at his food again.

**

* * *

**

10:10 pm

Garth was perched on his half of the bed, flipping through channels on the room's television with the volume on its lowest setting. Roy was beside him, asleep—poor thing didn't make it three steps into the room before he started yawning, and it was only a matter of minutes until he was unconscious.

And so the Atlantean had spent the last hour watching news about the blizzards, or reading, or trying to figure out how to carry their newly-bought suits around. The last thing he expected to hear was a knock at the door.

There was little he could do when strong hands pulled him from the doorway and shoved him up against the opposite wall. But there was little he _wanted_ to do when those hands threaded through his hair and a warm mouth closed over his, a whispered _Hello_ escaping between kisses. By the time Austin let go of him, both men were breathless and glowing.

"I thought you were in a meeting," Garth laughed, voice lowered, jerking on the end of that familiar cobalt tie.

Austin grinned. "We just got out. And Wayne Enterprises officially has a new, and very satisfied, client."

"It all came down to the tie, I suppose?"

The man only nodded, and kissed him again. "We should get a drink," he purred. "To celebrate."

"_Just_ a drink?" Garth chuckled, incredulous. The reply came in the form of teeth on his lower lip, and a pair of hands sliding down his hips. "Where, then?"

"Preferably in my bed, hot, begging…" Austin feigned surprise when the Titan laughed. "Oh, you meant the club? It's in the mall, somewhere…"

The prince thought for a second—which was challenging, considering that lithe fingers were toying with his belt—and abruptly moved toward the hotel room. "Let me get my key."

**

* * *

**

11:00 pm

"All right, all right. Chill out. If he doesn't come back soon, I'll go find him. He's a big boy, Karen, he can take care of himself." Roy sighed into the phone, barely listening to his upset leader's rant. "No, he doesn't have his cellphone, it's here in the room… I promise, I'll go find him and give him the phone… All right… I _know_! We'll talk later."

Karen was beyond frantic, and her nervousness was making _him_ antsy. The image in his head—Garth and the man, kissing in the tuxedo store—was now replaced with a worse picture. He could imagine Garth laying beaten somewhere, having trusted this sleazy tuxedo guy and then being mugged, or raped, or having god-knows-what happen to him.

Maybe Roy was getting ahead of himself.

_Garth is smart_, he recalled to ease his nerves, _and even if he doesn't have his phone, and even if his communicator doesn't work, he could find help if he needed it. And that tuxedo guy wouldn't stand a chance in a fight with the aquatic wonder anyway._

Well, that's what he hoped, at least. Roy stood and paced the room a few times, trying to get rid of this energy he'd built up. First that kiss—at least Garth's lips weren't around anymore to cloud his head—and then… Wait, did Garth get up to answer the door after dinner? Roy could remember a knock… but no fight, there was no yelling or scrabbling that woke him up…

The archer flopped onto the bed with a groan. _Damnit, fishy. Come the hell back already._

**

* * *

**

11:54 pm

They had gotten drinks, they had toasted to the successful addition of a new client, and that's about as far as they got before the call of the music lured them in. Maybe it was Austin's husky accent, maybe it was the fingers Garth threaded through the former's belt loops as the suit jacket peeled off—but something made them join the crowd on the dance floor.

Then the dancing was even too much to endure in public. They were already pressed chest-to-chest, hands roaming too far to be decent, breathy hums and low moans escaping into each other's mouth. They were reacting to the music, the friction, the aching need for the other… and it was only when Austin's thigh nudged between the Titan's legs, eliciting a blatant whimper, that the brown-haired man tugged him into the quieter, more private areas of the club.

The corner they chose was dark, with a few chairs, and a curtain partitioning them from the rest of the customers. Garth was pushed against the wall once more, hips jumping forward when they collided with Austin's.

Pale fingers knotted in brown hair and tugged, exposing the man's neck, allowing an Atlantean mouth to trail a line of kisses and nips down his skin. Austin raked his fingers up the other's sides, lifting the shirt up over his head, fingernails gently skimming down Garth's torso once the expanse of his chest was bared.

Garth's hands caught Austin's when they began fumbling at his belt, their mouths catching as well. There was a moment of stillness when the two pulled away, when shiny brown eyes met a violet gaze—under layers of glazed pleasure, there was an expression of confusion on Austin's face.

"Too far?" He swallowed, licked his lips.

But the Titan was shaking his head, grinning. "Too _clothed_." Their mouths connected again and Garth wasted no time in helping the brunette strip his shirt.

Tan hands were spread across the small of the Atlantean's back, fingertips digging into the soft flesh, massaging, making his vision blur. Garth pulled him closer, melding their bodies together, and Austin's hands traveled lower on his back, skimming down his jeans, until his fingers were brushing inseams. The prince sighed into the man's mouth and allowed him between his legs fully, finally establishing the much-needed contact they both wanted.

At the sound of a zipper being undone, Garth's low-lidded eyes met Austin's. A tan hand slipped past the elastic of Garth's boxers, and as fingers wrapped around him, white sparks flooded his eyes. Something incomprehensible slurred from his lips as his fingers tightened on Austin's shoulders, breaking their kiss to breathe. With an involuntary roll of his hips, he moaned some distorted variation of Austin's name.

It was at that exact moment when the curtains secluding them from the club parted, yanked aside by the only other Titan at the hotel. Panic replaced pleasure in Garth's veins and he shoved Austin away, clearing the hand from his boxers a moment too late.

"Roy," he choked, suddenly ashamed of how breathy he sounded, of how exposed he was. "What're you—"

But the archer interrupted him, tone even and exasperated. "If you're going out of the room, bring your fucking cellphone." He threw the device at Garth, who pocketed it. "Karen keeps trying to reach you."

"But my communicator—"

"The storms are messing with satellite reception, she can't get through." He checked his watch, squinting in the dark room. "You have about forty minutes before she calls again." And then, without another word from either, Roy simply pushed past the curtains again.

* * *

Like it so far? Yes? No? Maybe? _Lobster? _(…And if you recognize that quote, you're _amazing_.) You should tell me… in a review! Yeah!


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